The Kadin - Bertrice Small [97]
The doors to the sultan’s quarters opened before her, and she entered.
“My dear lord,” she began smoothly, “why have you treated me in such a fashion? I have not been permitted to leave my suite for almost three days now. Even my garden was forbidden me, and my slaves were also held prisoner. What have I done that you should treat me so harshly?”
Slowly Bajazet turned to face her. “You have failed,” he said quietly. “Selim’s entire family and household are safe.”
She paled, but recovering quickly, asked, “Why should they not be, my lord?”
“Do not pretend, you she-devil,” he thundered at her. “I know you are responsible! Your assassins were loose-lipped!”
“Who dares accuse me?”
“Murderess!” he hissed, ignoring her question. “For too many years I have ignored your treachery and evil because you were the mother of the heir, but he is heir no longer. Last night your precious son fled the palace in secret He is as one dead. I shall declare Selim my heir by the time of the evening prayers.”
“You can’t do that!” she shrieked at him. “My son is the heir! My son!”
“I cannot do what? I am sultan here, madam, a fact you have conveniently forgotten over the years.”
“Even if you pass over my son, Safiye Kadin’s son, Korkut is legally next in line. What of him?”
Bajazet advanced toward her, his face dark with rage. “Do you dare to preach the law to me, you foul creature? Do you not remember that Korkut publicly renounced his claim to my throne two years ago? He never wanted the sultanate, and besides, he knew it was the only way he could live in peace from your schemes. He is happy as governor of the Macedonian provinces, and completely loyal to my wishes.”
“You cannot disinherit my son!” she screamed again, “I have worked too long for him!”
He towered over her. “You poisoned my true heir, Mustafa, and I closed my eyes to it breaking the heart of the sweetest woman who ever lived. Now you have attempted a worse deed—the slaughter of thirteen innocent children, four lovely women, and over two hundred slaves. All this in the name of putting your son on my throne? Is there no end to your evil? I should have had you killed years ago!” The veins at the sultan’s temples stood out visibly throbbing.
“But you did not kill me,” she retorted, “thus condoning my actions. You are as guilty as I am!”
“I shall not go to my grave before I right that wrong,” he shouted, springing at her. His powerful hands closed about her throat and he squeezed with all his strength. Besma uttered a strangled cry and clawed at his fingers with her crimson nails. It was too late. By the element of surprise, the sultan had gained the advantage. Slowly he pressed harder, and she began to crumple to the floor. Her face, purple with trapped blood, began to turn blue. Her black eyes bulged from their sockets and then suddenly she went limp.
Hadji Bey moved quietly from the secluded comer of the room where he had been standing, and gently pried the sultan’s fingers loose. Besma fell to the floor, and a strange rattle came from her open mouth. The eunuch bent and felt for a pulse. There was none. “She is dead, my lord,” he said.
The sultan stared down at the bejeweled heap of rich clothing at his feet, then clutched at his chest, uttering a cry of pain. Hadji Bey called to the guards. “Quickly, fetch the sultan’s physician!”
“Wait!” gasped Bajazet “Selim—to be my heir—Selim!”
“Did you hear him?” asked the agha. The guards nodded. “Then you”—he pointed to one guard—“fetch the doctor. And you! Get my servant Talat. Tell no one of this, or your lives are forfeit! Hurry!”
The guards raced from